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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612914">The Lion in Spring</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressofMankind/pseuds/EmpressofMankind'>EmpressofMankind</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones (Tabletop RPG)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Family Shenanigans, Feudalism, House Lannister, House Stark, No Game of Thrones | A Song of Ice and Fire Knowledge Required, Nobility, Old Gods, POV Lyanna Stark, Pre-A Game of Thrones, eldritch shenanigans, except the part where all the women are dead, we're having none of that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:15:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612914</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressofMankind/pseuds/EmpressofMankind</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Here it is, the result of the thought: "but what if Loren &amp; Tywin met a decade earlier, instead of at the Greyjoy Rebellion?"</p><p>Set nearly twenty years before my long-fic "The Lion in Winter", the story starts mere weeks before the tourney in honour of Viserys' birth, in 276 AC. Tensions are building in the capital as the erstwhile friendship between King Aerys and his Hand, Lord Tywin, is straining towards breaking point with Prince Rhaegar unhappily caught in the middle. The Lord of Casterly Rock continuous to stubbornly mourn the loss of his Lady Joanna, much to his Lady Mother Jeyne's irritation. It's been years, Tywin, and she considers 2.5 grandchildren far too few. And the capital is far from the only place where unrest is brewing. Across the land, winter is tightening its hold on Westeros. </p><p>Out west, in the foothills of the Westerlands, life is quiet. For now. </p><p>All Loren and Lyanna wanted was ride horses and practice swordplay. </p><p>Was that really too much to ask?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Loren Lannister/Eddard Stark, Lyanna Stark/Brokken Lannister, Lyanna Stark/Loren Lannister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Saga of Bears &amp; Lions</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Lion in Spring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The draft title was: 'famous last words', lol.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The snow-dusted glade trembled under Lyanna's feet as the destrier thundered towards her from the treeline. Where its strong, heavy hooves bit the earth, clods of snow and frosted grass flew. Her heartbeat quickened as the morning sun glinted along steel brought to bear.</p><p>Horse and rider were a blur of colour as they charged past her. She caught a glimpse of a golden sea-lion against waves of white and blue under a red, red dawn. The rider held the lance steady and straight, locked against the crook of their breastplate. The jousting ring, suspended from a low hanging branch, swayed at their approach. </p><p>Lyanna bit her bottom lip, hands clenched into fists at her sides. <em>You can do it!</em></p><p>The horse snorted. Tack creaked. Metal scraped leather as the lance tip touched the ring… and went through!</p><p>She threw her arms up with a whoop. "You caught it! You caught it!"</p><p>The horse gathered and tourneyed, for he knew his paces well. He could do this shoulder-to-shoulder with flanking horses. He could do this while the cacophony of battle clamoured in his ears. While blood splattered up against his nose. While side-stepping the dead and dying. Meagre ice clumps and a maid's shrill shrieks were nothing to him. He tossed his head as they cantered back to her. 'Look at me,' that toss said. 'I still got it!'</p><p>She grinned ear to ear as she caught his great head and rubbed his rough cheeks. Minstrel may be old, his muzzle scarred and his dappled grey coat patchy, but he’d been a real warhorse once and had kicked a man to death on Bloodstone. <em>You still got it,</em> she thought as she inhaled his earthy scent and kissed his broad nose.</p><p>"That was amazing, Ren!"</p><p>Minstrel rubbed his head against her shoulder. He was a knight's horse, a true great horse, and powerful as one. His friendly gesture all but pushed her over, and Lyanna had to counterbalance against its casual strength. </p><p>"I knew you could do three in a row!"</p><p>The rider took off their stechhelm, and blond braids tumbled down to their waist from under a worn arming cap. "At least one of us was sure."</p><p>"Two. Minstrel and I never doubted you." Ren - Loren, really - was the oldest daughter of Lord Gerald Lannister of nearby Lannisport and, more importantly, her friend.</p><p>"He did well today." Ren tore off her leather arming cap as well, put it in the helmet and tossed it down to her. </p><p>"You both did!" Lyanna said as she caught it. In her castle-forged breastplate and tricolour surcoat, Ren seemed very noble and grown to her.</p><p>Minstrel snorted and threw his head as Ren shook out her long braids. She was a few years older — four-and-ten.</p><p>Lyanna grinned. "He agrees."</p><p>"He wants to be rid of the bridle and nosh that sappy grass." Ren scratched the roots of his mane right at his muscly crest. "Don't you, you greedy clodpole?"</p><p>Minstrel shook her touch, leaned his head down and grazed his lips across the snow.</p><p>"See, little wolf?" Ren laughed, bright and hearty, like the clatter of hooves on cobbles. She liked the sound of it.</p><p>Lyanna grabbed Minstrel's bridle to stop him and looked at her as she laughed, high up on the destrier's shoulders. The morning sun set a copper sheen to Ren's blond hair, wrapped tightly in three thick braids, her sides shorn short. It made her look like Jona, once Queen in the North, on the old tapestries in the Wolf Hall. <em>If only Father let me wear my hair like that.</em></p><p>"You'll be a knight one day, I know it," Lyanna said.</p><p>Melancholy flitted behind Ren's eyes as she ran a hand across her temple. Her fingertips lingered on the leaping sea-lion inked there. She smiled an instant later and swung down from the saddle. "And you, my faithful squire."</p><p>"Little Wolf and the Laughing Knight!" Lyanna beamed. Her very <em>best </em>friend.</p><p>Ren tousled Lyanna's hair affectionately, then gave Minstrel's flank a firm pat. "The early grass will give you a bellyache, you piggish bastard."</p><p><em>A few nibbles won't hurt you.</em> Lyanna rubbed Minstrel's thick neck and let the reigns slip as her eyes lingered on the lance. She chewed her bottom lip. If only her big brothers let her have their old things. Maybe, by the time Benjen no longer needed them, they were all used up? It seemed that way, some times. She knew the answer to her question but asked it anyway, as she always did: "Can I try?" </p><p>"If you fall and break your neck, Lord Rickard will break mine." Ren smiled, but it was a wry one now. "And then the North and West will go to war."</p><p>Lyanna didn’t think it would go so poorly. "Minstrel is a very good horse, I'll bet you anything that he can do it alone. I'll just hold onto him and point the lance!"</p><p>Minstrel turned his head to them at his name. She was sure he understood as he regarded her with his kind, intelligent eyes. They were the colour of dark chestnuts and seemed ever-smiling, like Ren's.</p><p>"Minstrel is a stallion." Ren's mirth vanished, and her lips became a thin line.</p><p>Lyanna's smile faded. Except when she frowned like <em>that</em> — it made her look like her uncle, and not in a good way.</p><p>"Minstrel's temper is even, and he's very sweet!"</p><p>She had met Lord Tywin on only one occasion, but it had made a lasting and unpleasant impression. She took Minstrel's large head in her arms and buried her nose against his rough cheek.</p><p>"He wouldn't hurt me."</p><p>"Few horses mean to hurt their rider," Ren said in <em>that</em> tone. The one with which Lord Tywin had made her feel stupid and childish.</p><p>She buried her nose deeper into Minstrel's fur and inhaled his soothing scent. Ren had gotten him as a gift for her tenth name day. A real warhorse! All she had gotten were a stupid comb and a lute.</p><p>Ren patted Minstrel's powerful hindquarters. "You have Quill."</p><p>Quill was a sweet rounsey and had belonged to her brother Eddard before her. She loved her scruffy gelding, but he was not suited for tilting. The lance would frighten him, she had tried with a broomstick. </p><p>"Father will let me if we write him," she muttered into Minstrel's fur. </p><p>Last year, Lyanna had accompanied her parents to Bear Isle. They had gone because Father visited all banners once a year and House Mormont was a principal banner. She had met Ren there. Ren's Lady Mother, the Lady Rowenna, was sister to Lord Jeor. She had said they had come to the quiet of Bear Isle because of the sadness at home.</p><p>Ren crooked an eyebrow. "I must have met some other Lord Rickard, then."</p><p>Three months ago, Ren had received a raven that she was to return home to the Westerlands. A party from House Lannister, led by her other uncle, Ser Kevan, had arrived on the isle shores shortly after. Lyanna had pleaded day and night with her parents to not be separated from her friend already. In the end, Father had allowed her to accompany Ren. And it had been the <em>best</em> three months of her life. Even though her Lord Father had preemptively forbidden them most of everything— some of which they had done anyway.</p><p>Lyanna pursed her lips sideways. "If only."</p><p>"Oh, you sweet summer wolf."</p><p>When Ren leaned down and kissed her forehead, heat flushed her cheeks. She felt it still as Ren ducked into their shelter.  They came here often and had built a hunters' lean-to in the shadow of an outcrop, between two thick old trees. The only other person that knew of it was Ren's older brother, Brokken. He had helped them chop down a tree for the support beams.</p><p>Ren reappeared a moment later with two blunted tourney swords and a pair of bucklers. "Have you practised?" she asked and tossed a set to her.</p><p>Lyanna fumbled to catch them. "I practised with Tymen," she replied a beat late.</p><p>"Are you sure?" A grin ghosted Ren's face. "I do think I saw a little wolf perched on the sea wall, making moon-eyes at boys."</p><p>Lyanna flushed. "Did not!"</p><p>"If you say so…"</p><p>Flustered, she jumped topic. "I am glad you're back."</p><p>A fortnight ago, Lord Gerald had gone to Kayce. He wanted to negotiate overnight berthing for Northern traders and visitors coming down for the tourney. It was to be a big event, held by Lord Tywin in honour of Prince Viserys' birth. And from what she'd gathered, they expected many folks, great and small, from across Westeros to attend.</p><p>"It was boring without you," she added. Ren had been allowed to accompany her dreamy brother to the negotiation. She had written Father to ask if she, too, might go but the return raven had been as swift as it had been brief: 'No.'</p><p>"Tymen and Tailyn were home, didn't you hang out with them?"</p><p>“Yes, of course,” she said, but it wasn’t true. </p><p>She hadn't spent time with Ren's younger siblings at all. Tymen was her age, but he had his lessons with the master-at-arms and the maester. Tailyn was only twice-four and weird. She asked strange and invasive questions and talked to herself. Instead, Lyanna had camped out in the stables. She'd brushed Minstrel's coat and waxed his massive hooves. She had taken him for walks to all their favourite meadows, too. Once, she'd climbed him and tried to ride him. Unfortunately, he had refused to walk.</p><p>Ren held her sword loosely as she took a casual defensive stance. "I hope you practised or I'll kick your scrawny ass again."</p><p>Lyanna raised her sword to match and dodged Ren's opening strike. She had practised! In the stables and out on the meadows, with the handle of an old shovel for a sword. She had done all the cuts and parries Ren had shown her, a hundred times and more.</p><p>Ren struck, and Lyanna parried, side-stepped and dodged her riposte just in time.</p><p>“Feet."</p><p>Ren pressed the attack. </p><p>Lyanna dodged and tripped backwards as she struggled to keep up.</p><p>“Feet, Lya,” Ren insisted.</p><p>Lyanna tried to think of where to put her sword and feet at the same time. She parried Ren's low strike. Side-step, side-step, cross-step—.</p><p>Her toes caught behind her instep. She tried to compensate but overbalanced as blue sky and treetops filled her view. And then the blunted tip of a tourney sword, glinting in the morning sun.</p><p>“Never cross your feet.”</p><p><em>That</em> tone, again.</p><p>Ren stuck out a gloved hand.</p><p>Lyanna grabbed it and pulled herself up. </p><p>"You are stronger and better trained!"</p><p>She hated her childish tone, but it was true. Ren practised swordplay with her brothers. Her parents thought it was fine! Important, even! Women had held the harbour keep and thrown back ironborn raids. She chewed her bottom lip. All the women of her blood had done was have babies and die. She wanted to ride in a vanguard! Break a siege! Slay a usurper king!</p><p>“You think everyone you meet on the battlefield will be your equal?”</p><p>Lyanna didn't look up because she didn't like seeing <em>that</em> frown on Ren's face. She stared at her feet instead. Feeling dumb. And childish. </p><p>"No."</p><p>“No. Quite likely, you will be the least skilled, and if not that, then still at a disadvantage against brute strength.”</p><p>Her gaze snapped up as heat rose in her chest. "Women can be the best!"</p><p>Ren tipped her head sideways, <em>that</em> frown deepening. </p><p>Lyanna dodged it as her gaze sought refuge between her feet once more.</p><p>"We can. Yet more oft than not we have to work twice as hard to be considered half as capable."</p><p>“It's not fair.”</p><p>"No, it's not."</p><p>It really wasn't. And Lyanna couldn't even practice at home! Benjen had shown her a bit, but that would never be enough. For Ren didn't have to sneak lessons and Brokken could still beat her fair and square.</p><p>"Men are often larger, and heavier, than us. They will have the advantage of dumb strength," Ren continued. "And an annoyingly large amount of them know it, too."</p><p>“A woman could be all that.”</p><p>“And you’d be just as dead if you faced her.” </p><p>Lyanna stared at her feet. That was true, too.</p><p>"You need to practice your footwork. If people see you step awkwardly, they will use it. If you’re lucky, they will exploit a riposte— .”</p><p>“Like you did?”</p><p>“Yes, like I did. It’s a fair tactic in swordplay, based on anticipation and skill. Plenty though? Will use their strength and simply shove you, trip you, or force a lock you cannot break.”</p><p>Lyanna chewed her bottom lip.</p><p>"There will always be someone better on the battlefield, and that is true for everyone. For us, for sure, there will be someone stronger." </p><p>Half a smile returned to Ren's face though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She gave her shoulder a firm squeeze. “The better you place your feet, the less that strength matters.”</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>"Good." </p><p>Ren's smile broadened then and set sparkles in her chestnut eyes as she dropped into a defensive stance.</p><p>"Now. Again."</p><p>Lyanna grinned and beat her to the opening move.</p><p>Ren pushed her hard, and before long, Lyanna was all sweaty and sore. Her arms ached like a horse had danced on them, but she felt good. This was all she had ever wanted from life. She never wanted to go home. Not ever.</p><p>They practised until soft, fluffy snowflakes started to drift down. Lyanna had always thought winter something 'of the North'. It didn't seem so cold here, the snows thin and sweet. In that, she had been sternly corrected. According to Lord Tywin, the worst was yet to come.</p><p>Lyanna packed up their equipment and entered their shelter. It was dim inside, and the pleasant scent of earth and leaf filled her nose. It came from the packed dirt floor and the moss with which they had covered the ceiling planks. The moss kept their little home away from home protected from melt water and sharp winds both.</p><p>"Let's have a bite," Ren said as she threw a thick wool blanket across Minstrel.</p><p>Lyanna couldn't agree more. "I am starved."</p><p>Minstrel leaned his head through the doorway, too large to fit inside. Ren grinned and rubbed her knuckles across his broad snout. "I could eat a horse."</p><p>Minstrel snorted, clearly affronted.</p><p>"Don't say that!" </p><p>Lyanna snuggled his snout as Ren laughed and lit the campfire. "She doesn't mean it, I promise."</p><p>Within short order, strips of bacon sizzled in the old pan. The fire was smoky for the wood was damp, but that was all right. It filled the shelter with warmth. It wasn't very big — just large enough for two cots, a storage chest and make-shift bench around a stone-lined campfire. But they had made it themselves, and it was theirs alone.</p><p>Lyanna buried her nose in Minstrel's fur as Ren prepared the bacon. The smell reminded her of Riverrun. They had stayed there on their way here. Father and Lord Hoster had spoken at great length, and she was sure it had been about Brandon and Catelyn.</p><p>"Here." Ren held out a hunk of bread, dipped in warm, salty fat.</p><p>She accepted it gladly, nibbling it as she curled up with an arm around Minstrel's neck. She fed him the crust when Ren wasn't looking. Catelyn loved sunny gardens and singing while her brother liked racing through muddy snow and splashing in rivers. It was a terrible match. </p><p>"Would you wed my brother?"</p><p>Ren glanced up. "Lord Rickard will never agree."</p><p>Lyanna pursed her lips sideways. She was probably right. Father seemed to want her brother to marry the daughter of a Great House. Though Lord Tywin was Ren's uncle. That totally counted, right? "We could ask? Then you can come live at Winterfell, and we will be friends forever."</p><p>"I'd love to be friends forever." Ren smiled but there was a sadness to it that she didn't understand. </p><p>"What about Ned?" Lyanna was sure he liked her. He and Robert were always asking her to come with them to hunt or hawk. She'd also overheard Robert say that Ren had a nice butt once, whatever that meant. More important, though, was that Ned had agreed.</p><p>"Ned's sweet but Mother will never allow it." Ren shook her head, seeming sadder still.</p><p><em>Why not?</em> Lyanna frowned, then smiled. "I could marry your brother!" They could live in this glade, wouldn't that be amazing?</p><p>"I knew it!" Ren grinned, and Lyanna was pleased to see the sadness go. "You've been at the docks to watch him help at the wharves, haven't you."</p><p>Her cheeks flushed. </p><p>"Did not!"</p><p>It had been the harbour keep's arming yard, actually. And he'd been practising his swordplay. In his breeches. Which fit him very well.</p><p>"I'll tell him there's a little wolf after his bear butt!"</p><p>"Nooooo! No, you can't!"</p><p>"I will, I will, I will!" Ren teased and attacked her with tickles until she shrieked for the sweet release of death.</p><p>"I yield!" Lyanna said, breathless from laughing.</p><p>"And don't you forget it," Ren said as she sat up. Then cursed, remembering the bacon. </p><p>It was a little crispy but still a warm treat. They washed it down with watered summer wine and had some grapes too. And cacao cakes as dessert. They ate in silence, Lyanna allowing Minstrel another nibble of bread when Ren went to douse the fire.</p><p>"Shall we practice some more?"</p><p>Her friend never sat still for very long. <em>Maybe I'm the bear</em>, Lyanna thought. She felt full and satisfied.<em> I could sleep all day</em>.</p><p>"Sure," she said.</p><p>Ren was already out the door.</p><p>By the time Lyanna had dragged herself to her feet and pushed past Minstrel's bulk, Ren had set up their make-shift target dummy. They'd sewn it themselves, and her hands ached at the mere thought of it — the jute had been tough. It looked like a fat, saggy scarecrow, more than anything. But they had made it, and it was theirs.</p><p>Ren circled the dummy, jabbed at its lumpy belly and pretended to dodge a blow. She turned with her momentum and hit it left, right and high in quick succession.</p><p>"That looks awesome!"</p><p>Ren grinned. "Werrick showed me, last week."</p><p>"You have to teach me too," Lyanna said. Ser Werrick Closter was the master-at-arms of the harbour keep. <em>If only Father let me have lessons with Ser Rodrick.</em></p><p>"Maybe, I will."</p><p>"Please?" Lyanna folded her hands together. </p><p>Ren had been allowed to train with Ser Rodrick when she'd visited Winterfell. Lord Gerald had said so in his letter. She knew because she'd overheard Mother and Father speak of it. Father thought it was because Lady Rowenna was a Mormont, whatever that meant. She'd be a Mormont in a heartbeat if that meant she could practice swordplay.</p><p>"Feet!"</p><p>Lyanna spooked out of her thoughts as steel glinted in the corner of her eyes. She dodged just in time.</p><p>"Never let your thoughts wander in a fight."</p><p>Ren scowled again, like <em>that</em>.</p><p>"Why do you want to learn how to wield a sword?"</p><p>Lyanna frowned. "It's fun? And to show that I can!"</p><p>"Swordplay is not a game, Lya."</p><p><em>But it is! It's not like we'll actually ever fight in a war</em>, Lyanna thought. She felt stupid. And childish. She hadn't meant to let her thoughts wander.</p><p>"Why do you?" she asked.</p><p>Ren ran a hand through the stubble at her temple, her fingertips lingering on the sealion inked there. Lyanna tried to catch her gaze. When she did, the hardness in her friend's face shook her.</p><p>"To protect myself."</p><p>Distress fluttered in the pit of her stomach. "Lord Gerald will protect you, and Brokken, too."</p><p>Ren looked unconvinced. "They won't be there, always."</p><p>Lyanna didn't like the sad determination in her tone. "You're Lord Gerald's oldest daughter and, therefor, you will wed an important Lord who will keep you safe."</p><p>"I should wed your brother, is that what you're hinting at?" Ren said, though she was glad to see amusement return to her friend's face.</p><p>"He'd totally protect you!" <em>Brandon totally will</em>, she thought. She'd seen him beat up a stable boy for insulting one of his ladyloves once. And she'd been a baker's daughter he'd met at the winter fair.</p><p>Ren chuckled. "You think he likes me?"</p><p>"Duh! You're awesome!" Besides, he'd asked her to visit Wintertown once, that totally counted. And they both liked to go to the godswood.</p><p>"Maybe I shall write him..." Ren's gaze shifted leagues into the distance, as if some great truth were written on the far tree trunks and she had to squint to read it.</p><p>"You should." <em>You like the same things, it will be wonderful. We'll be friends forever.</em></p><p>"I'll marry a Lord who can protect me."</p><p>Lyanna didn't think she was talking to her but nodded in wholehearted agreement anyway. </p><p>"Definitely." </p><p>Brandon could protect her, she was sure of it.</p><p>"Don't move."</p><p>Lyanna froze at Ren's tone - soft, cautious.</p><p>"What is it?" she whispered.</p><p>"A golden hart."</p><p>Her breath caught. She turned — slowly, deliberately. At the edge of the meadow, right at the tree line, stood a young stag with a coat as light as summer wheat. It stared at them as it stood there, perfectly still.</p><p>Beside them, Minstrel glanced up from his grass. The old warhorse snorted and the deer flinched.</p><p>"Quiet, you fat lump," Ren hissed. She shoved an elbow in the horse's flank. "Keep an eye on it," she added as she inched towards their shelter.</p><p>"I—Wait!" <em>What do I do if it leaves?</em> </p><p>But Ren had already dodged back inside. She returned a few moments later with her bow and quiver.</p><p>"You're going to hunt it?" Lyanna looked at the majestic animal. Should they? Should anyone?</p><p>Ren cocked her head. "It's a deer. It's on Father's land. We can hunt it all we like."</p><p>
  <em>But should we.</em>
</p><p>A twinkle appeared in Ren's eyes. "You know, Brokken will be very impressed and ever so jealous if we bring home a stag like this."</p><p>Heat rose to her cheeks. </p><p>She quickly turned away, to the deer. It was an unusual colour but it was no different from any other stag, was it? They had gone hunting before - rabbits, usually, a fox once. They'd hunted deer too. Then why did she feel so poorly about it, this time?</p><p>"Maybe we shouldn't…"</p><p>Ren gave her a look as if she'd gone wholly mad. "We might never see its like again," she said. "And you bet, the minute anyone else sees it, they'll organise a hunt for it and not rest until they have it."</p><p>Lyanna observed the animal. It stood there, looking at them. Waiting. For what? Them?</p><p>Ren put her arm around her shoulders and pointed at the deer. "Right now, it's ours, Lya. We lose it, it's gone forever."</p><p>Lyanna chewed her bottom lip. Ren was right, it had come to them. They had seen it first. These were Lord Gerald's lands. They could hunt here all they liked. It was just a deer. </p><p>"OK," she said with conviction she didn't feel.</p><p>Ren smiled broadly, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach when Ren squeezed her close. "OK!"</p><p>Minstrel walked in front of them then, obscuring the deer from view. He snorted and pawed his hoof at the snow.</p><p>"Munch time is over, you great hog," Ren hissed as she took his reigns. He pulled his large head up, resisting her gesture.</p><p>Behind the large horse, the deer turned and walked back between the trees.</p><p>"It's leaving!" Lyanna said, soft but alarmed. Ren vocalised a string of words Mother would have grounded Lyanna for a week for.</p><p>"Bring the clodpole," Ren said as she shoved the reigns in her hands and hurried after the deer, bow in hand as she drew an arrow from her quiver.</p><p>"Come on, Minstrel," Lyanna urged the large horse. Reluctantly, it came with, his ears flat in his neck.</p><p>The morning sun filtered through the trees as they tracked the stag, dappled light setting mottled sparkles across patches of fresh snow. The young stag weaved between the thick, moss-covered trunks, never far. They followed it for some time, an hour, maybe, though certainly not two. It never once stopped. Not to eat, not to drink, not even when Minstrel snorted loud as the harbour bells. It weaved, unerring, untiring, further and further into the woodland. The few times Ren had a clear shot, it ducked behind a rock or jumped a shrub out of sight. Ever returning, a little further up ahead, from behind an outcrop or fallen trunk.</p><p>The going was slow and uneven, and became worse so. The Westerlands were all rolling hills and hidden valleys, crags and cliffs and sudden outcrops cloaked in broad-leaf green. It was very different from the vast, flat expanse of the North and the great pine forests Lyanna was used to. She paused when she noticed they were climbing. Rather steeply, too. Which meant…</p><p>"Ren?"</p><p>Ren moved up ahead, intend on the deer. As quiet and untiring as her brother Eddard as she tracked her quarry. She really could have been her sister. If only she were.</p><p>"Ren, wait!"</p><p>Ren's hand shot up in warning, her gaze not leaving her prey.</p><p>Lyanna hurried towards her and grabbed her sleeve. She lowered her voice. "We're no longer on your Lord Father's lands, are we?"</p><p>Ren took in their surroundings as if the forest didn't look the same from Crakehall to the Crag. "Yea, I guess not."</p><p>"…are we on the slopes of Casterly Rock?"</p><p>Ren cocked her head. "Sure? That makes sense."</p><p>"Maybe we should go back."</p><p>"I am a lion, all the West is my hunting ground," Ren protested, as she had known she would. Further ahead, the stag lingered among the trees.</p><p>"These are Lord Tywin's lands." Lyanna chewed her bottom lip as his disapproving scowl floated in front of her mind's eye. The stag belonged to him now.</p><p>Ren ran her fingers through Minstrel's thick mane. Her gaze shifted to the middle distance, as if the answer hid among the stag's antlers. It still stood there, watching them.</p><p>Disquiet settled in Lyanna's stomach. "We should go back."</p><p>Ren frowned at the distant trees, then shook her head as a brazen smile dimpled her freckled cheeks.</p><p>"Lord Tywin is my uncle, he won't mind."</p>
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